Bad Happenings
by DarkestWolfx
Summary: Dads were like gold. They were unique to everyone, necessary and resourceful, important and supportive. The hard part: you only ever get one. Possible spoilers for 'Extraction' (5/12/15), but only in the form of a quote.


I'm really liking this undertone/sub-plot focus on Jeff at the moment as it is providing me with so much inspiration for fics about our favourite boys.

* * *

" _You don't want anything bad to happen to your dad."_

" _No."_

" _You sure don't."_

* * *

When Alan was four he got upset with his father.

He balled his eyes out and made him feel guilty because he'd come home late and not had time to read to him a story. He didn't wait for the explanation – and had he, he wouldn't have understood it – but then he may have known his actions weren't fair.

He wasn't the one who said sorry, but part of him knew he was the one who had to. As he grew up he wished to say it, he wanted and waited to everyday, but the syllables never rose into his throat before he ran out of time.

* * *

When Gordon was seven he threw a strop with his father.

He threw a tantrum because he'd been told he had to miss swimming this week for his Grandmothers birthday. He got annoyed and upset because it was something important to him, something he enjoyed and he wasn't really able to realise it was for one week only.

He said a few things he shouldn't, words he regretted after and wanted to take back each and every one. He never quite did, because Jeff told him off for it naturally, but they made up with a simply apology. An apology which never directly took back the verbal insults.

* * *

When Virgil was ten he complained to his father.

It wasn't the man's fault but he made it so. It wasn't important, but he stressed it and repeated it until even he felt bad about the awkward looks and silences from his brothers. Though still he continued until Jeff caved in and attempted to replace the 'missing' paints.

He said thank you, but they were the wrong words. He found the paints later, misplaced by fault of his own, though never found the confidence to bring it back up as his mistake. He now wished he had since it plagued him still, though such a trivial thing.

* * *

When John was thirteen he stopped talking to his father.

Jeff was looking out for him and thought late night star gazing every night was excessive – and it most probably was, but John was obsessed for want of a better word and didn't see it in the same light. He protested it with silence, days worth of agonised looks.

He knew it wasn't really worth it, he knew his dad was right, but he didn't want to be wrong as it was something he frequented rarely. He didn't know how to be wrong, so he gave the right the cold shoulder. It wasn't his words he wanted to take back, rather his lack of.

* * *

When Scott was sixteen he screamed at his father.

He bellowed and tore his throat raw because the man had left them and he didn't know what to do. It made him feel better, yet it made him feel worse. He shouldn't be yelling, but he couldn't stop it either. The logical part of him wasn't registering the argument.

For the first time he knew he'd crossed a line – one he never crossed with the living version that he now longed to have. At least then he may know how to fix it, where as now he lacked the know how to get back over it as there was no way to apologise. He could say the word till he was blue in the face: it didn't mean dad would hear.

* * *

All of them had done it, time and time again. They'd all done it and forgot it, like it didn't need a care.

They'd all taken from Jeff Tracy, a loan they were never required to pay back since he was their dad, always would be their dad, who never thought of them less.

But once he was gone, once he was no longer there like the fortress wall which kept intruders away and the strong waves at bay, everything had changed and nothing was the same.

You didn't always think of your dad, the crutch which held you up, until it was kicked out from underneath you and never picked back up.

They never wanted anything to happen to him, even when they were extremely mad. Now something had happened – something bad and he was gone – they had no idea how to come back strong, let alone to carry on.

They'd lost the man who cared for them as though they were ancient bronze, the only one which they would ever truly love, the only one who could understand them all without such need for even a single word. They lost him and they could never get him back…

…because truthfully, you only ever get one dad.


End file.
